


turned to steel in the great magnetic field

by carrieevew



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Superpowers, Vigilantism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2018-09-19 17:25:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9452204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carrieevew/pseuds/carrieevew
Summary: hiding the fact that he runs around the town in a mask and catches criminal wasn't as hard as Bellamy thought it would be. or maybe he just didn't notice that the cat was out of the bag alreadybased on a tumblr post: i'm trying really hard to hide my secret superhero identity from you but oops, you kinda already know.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i found that post on tumblr some time ago and really wanted to write it but then i obviously forgot about it. until now! i've been marathoning the 100 and Luke Cage on Netflix lately and here we are. as always, the story had taken a turn into a place i didn't plan and ended up so much longer than i though but i like it, so.
> 
> title from [_**Iron Man**_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5s7_WbiR79E) by Black Sabbath.
> 
> hope you guys enjoy!

Bellamy stumbled into his apartment and started shedding his blood-covered clothes as soon as the door closed behind him. He groaned in pain as he took off the hoodie, hoping that the shoulder wasn’t dislocated after all—he really wasn’t in a mood for checking if the Mel Gibson method of setting it would actually work. He pushed his fingers thorough a couple of the bullet holes in the hoodie and blew a raspberry before throwing it to the ground.

The bulletproof vest took a little bit more effort but finally that was off, too. One of the bullets dislodged itself from it when the vest hit the floor and for a full minute, Bellamy just stood there, taking slow and painful breaths, gaping at it like it just appeared out of the thin air and a random thought came to him that he’d now have to ask Miller to find him a new vest. That’s gonna be a fun conversation.

He looked down at the t-shirt he was still wearing and while it was filthy with drying blood everywhere that wasn’t covered by the vest, it looked like his torso was fine. Well, relatively speaking. He was sure he was bruised all over but at least it seemed that his internal organs were still in one piece, so. Small mercies.

In hindsight, he probably should’ve waited for the police to arrive before he ran into that shop but honestly, patience was never his strong suit. There was a couple of robbers inside, holding everyone at gunpoint, one of them looking like he was about to snap and Bellamy was the least likely to die in there. But still, startling the agitated gunmen with semi-automatics was probably one of his stupider ideas.

Bellamy walked over to his kitchen, grabbed a bag of some frozen peas and carrots and then then dragged himself to the living room, dropping heavily to the couch. He laid down and put the bag on his shoulder. Might as well be there since he didn’t have enough frozen produce to cover every aching spot on his body.

He knew that he still had to dig the bullets from his arms and thigh before the wounds close but that could wait a little bit. He just needed a moment.

***

Bellamy must’ve drifted off for a bit because the bag of what was supposed to be used for soup was still cold and there was someone banging on his front door.

“Open up, Bellamy!” Clarke’s voice came from the other side. He shifted with a groan and the bag fell to the floor. Bellamy considered ignoring her but she sounded pissed enough that he pretty much expected her to knock the door down. He moved into a sitting position but clearly, that wasn’t quick enough for Clarke because she knocked even harder. “I know you’re in there, I can fucking _hear_ you! I swear, if you’re dead, I’m gonna kick your ass!”

Bellamy got up and went to the door. He straightened up a little bit and opened it, catching Clarke with her fist raised and ready.

“What are you doing here?” He tried to sound casual but Clarke just gave him a very unimpressed once-over. She pushed inside the apartment, ignoring his _ow_ when she knocked her elbow against his side.

“I’m selling girl scout cookies, what do you think I’m doing here?!” Clarke put her medical bad on his coffee table with way to much force and turned to face Bellamy again. Only now she looked much more worried that angry. “I saw you get shot on TV, Bellamy,” she half-shouted but her voice wavered slightly and Bellamy deflated. “Now, take your clothes off,” she commanded. “I need to patch you up.”

For a moment, Bellamy wanted to tell her that he can take care of himself but finally, he stripped off his jeans and as he was pulling the ruined t-shirt, he heard her take a sharp breath.

Clarke gestured for him to sit back on the couch and started going through her bag, pointedly not looking at him. She was halfway through emptying the whole thing on his coffee table when he finally asked.

“How long did you know?”

“That you’re running around the city at night, wearing a mask and chasing criminals like you’ve read one comic book too many?” she shot him a quick glance. “A while.”

“They call you the Gladiator, Bellamy, it’s hardly a codename for anyone who actually knows you.” Clarke pressed a swab soaked with an antiseptic to one of his cuts and he hissed. “Then there was a girl in the ER who caught a glimpse of your face and told everyone about it. At first I thought it was crazy but then the vigilante would go after someone again and the next day you’d appear with a new bruise of a scrape.” She sighed and finally looked him in the eye. “And then I just knew,” she said with a shrug. Clarke finished cleaning his wounds and went back to her bag.

She pulled out a syringe but paused, her brow furrowing.

“What’s wrong?”

“I—It’s a local anaesthetic and I’m not sure how much of that I can give you,” she said, sounding very uncertain.

“Just go for it. It’ll be out of my system before you know it,” Bellamy told her with a wave of a hand as he remembered the shocked face of the dentist who was removing his wisdom tooth and the anaesthesia wore off after twenty minutes. Clarke shot him a look that told him very clearly that they’re gonna talk about it more later and then stuck the needle into his arm.

She grabbed the forceps and hovered for a moment, shooting him a questioning glance. Bellamy nodded at her and, with a sigh, Clarke dove in. Bellamy froze until she pulled the slug out, her eyes widening a little at the sight of it, and dropped it on the newspaper spread out on the table.

“So, how does it work?” Clarke’s voice was forcibly casual as she moved toward the second wound. She was trying to distract the both of them from the fact that she was digging bullets out of her best friend’s body. “You’re clearly not bullet proof,” she pointed out and another slug landed on the paper. “So?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure how it _works_. I’m a bit faster and stronger than most, I guess.” Bellamy shrugged and Clarke scolded him not to move. “And I heal quickly,” he added, hoping to reassure her because by the third bullet, her brow was so tightly knit he had to physically stop himself from running his thumb over it to smooth it out. Instead, he said softly “I’m gonna be fine.”

Two more bullets later (damn, he actually missed that fifth one) they were done. There was a mixture of concern and curiosity on her face, she was clearly fascinated by the fact that despite being shot multiple times only a couple of hours ago, he was functioning perfectly well. And yet, there was no denying that he had been shot multiple times.

“Do you need stitches, or—” Clarke went back to looking quite lost now and Bellamy’s mouth quirked into the tinniest of smiles. He shook his head and she just covered his wounds wit gauze. The anaesthetic started to wear off now and Bellamy found himself strangely grateful for that. The returning pain turned out to be the perfect distraction from the fact that Clarke had moved on to checking his ribs for cracks and was running her fingers gently against his sides, leaning even closer to him, her hair tickling his chin. She confirmed his suspicions that he was just heavily bruised and finally removed her hands from him before it got any more awkward.

Clarke looked at him thoroughly once again, evaluating her work and let out a heavy breath, taking the rubber gloves off.

“I’m gonna be fine,” Bellamy repeated, laying down on the couch. “I just need to get some rest.” He grunted as he settled and Clarke gave him a sharp nod, reaching for the fleece blanket and spreading it over his lower half, mindful of the bandages.

She turned off the lights, leaving the room only barely-lit by whatever was coming in from the street, and sat heavily on the armchair to his right, clearly settling down for good. She looked exhausted and Bellamy knew he should tell her to go home and rest but judging by the determined look on her face, enhanced by the near darkness that surrounded her, there was no way she was going anywhere.

Besides, no matter how angry she was with him—and he knew that she would be, it was much easier for her to deal with than the fear of him getting hurt; Bellamy still felt better with Clarke right next to him. He watched her as she fought against herself, her eyes closing down and when her head finally fell against her shoulder and her breath evened out, Bellamy turned his head away and drifted off.

 

***

Bellamy woke up to the all-too-familiar itching and a dull ache, the tall-tale signs that his wounds have closed and the worst was behind him. He took a couple of deep breaths, testing his ribs and let out the last one with relative ease and relief.

It was still dark outside but now also really, really quiet which meant it was probably very early in the morning. He looked over to Clarke who was sleeping, curled in on the armchair, her hair almost completely out of her braid and covering half of her face.

He got up from the couch and took the blanket to cover her instead. Clarke stirred awake when he put it against her legs and blinked a few times before her eyes focused on Bellamy’s face and or a split second she looked slightly confused but pleased when she sent him a sleepy smile. And then the events of the previous evening must’ve come back to her because her face grew serious again and she practically shot up from the armchair, her hands reaching for the bandages covering his injuries.

She removed one of them and Bellamy saw her mouth fell open, hey eyes going wide with astonishment. Clarke reached for the next one and she ran her thumb over the scar tissue there. His skin was still angry red and tender but definitely didn’t look like he’d been shot barely a few hours ago. Clarke’s eyes shot up to look straight at him, her mouth still agape.

“Told you I’d be alright,” Bellamy said with a weak smile and a half shrug and Clarke slapped his forearm but there was a smile on her face now, too.

“How is that even possible?” she asked with amazement.

“I don’t know, I think I was just born this way.” Bellamy helped Clarke remove the rest of the bandages.

“Okay, Lady Gaga, you should probably go back to sleep,” she answered with a trace of amusement in her voice but it was quickly drowned down by a long yawn.

“So should you, doctor,” he Bellamy smirked at her. “Come on, you can sleep on the bed. I’ll grab a shower and take the couch.” He gestured to the piece of furniture but Clarke shook her head.

“No, just—we can both sleep on the bed, I promise I won’t steal the blankets.” She said quickly and it came to Bellamy that just like him, she felt better staying with him right now. She might’ve known about his secret for a while now but seeing him hurt with her own eyes couldn’t have been easy for her, even if it was just another day for him. Bellamy nodded then, gesturing for her to go to the bedroom.

 

***

Bellamy expected Clarke to be asleep when he stepped out of the bathroom but she was sitting on top of the covers instead, her legs crossed, fingers fiddling with the hem of her—his, actually, t-shirt. Waiting for him.

She kept eyeing him with worry etched into her features and Bellamy went to his dresser to dig out another t-shirt to cover up the bruises and scar tissue. He pulled it on and dropped heavily onto the bed, on Clarke’s right. She lowered herself, crawling under the covers and Bellamy turned off the bedside lamp before joining her. They laid in quiet for a while, neither of them even close to falling asleep, judging by the tension radiating from Clarke’s body.

“Did you know about my, um—abilities?” he finally asked. He didn’t really know how to talk about it. His sister knew, how could she not. And Miller, since it was him and not 911 who Bellamy called after catching someone but neither of them had any scientific knowledge that would be of any help and talking to a random doctor had always felt like an unnecessary risk. When Bellamy met Clarke a few years ago, they didn’t exactly hit it off which meant that telling her was out of the question as well.

By the time they’d become such close friends, he’d already been doing—whatever the hell that was. Another couple of years had passed and now here there were, his secret officially out in the open between them and yet he still wasn’t sure how to have this conversation.

“I knew it had to be _something_ ,” Clarke said, “because you always looked like whatever fight you’d been into happened much earlier than it actually did but you know, _superpowers_ isn’t exactly the first thing that comes to minds. Not to me, anyway,” she continued and Bellamy almost heard her smirk.

“But you never said anything.” That wasn’t exactly a question but he still wanted an answer.

“Neither did you.” She sounded a little defensive but he couldn’t really blame her. It was his secret to tell after all.

“I didn’t really know how to. I mean, there isn’t a good conversation starter for that, is there?” Bellamy sighed. “Besides, I didn’t want you to try and talk me out of it. You probably could’ve and I—”

“I know,” she cut it, covering his hand with hers and squeezing gently. “I wanted to, at first. When the initial shock of _how could it possibly be someone I know_ passed, I really wanted to yell at you for putting yourself in harm’s way like that but then I thought about it and—it just made sense.”

“It’s who you are, Bell,” Clarke said and Bellamy felt her shrug against his shoulder. “You always try to put yourself between somebody else and whatever danger is in front of them. I don’t think it has anything to do with those abilities but the fact of the matter is, you do have them and it is your choice to do with them whatever you see fit. And you chose to help people. Just as it was your choice whether or not to tell me about it.”

Bellamy was stunned into silence. He turned his head to look at her and in the near-darkness of his bedroom he could mostly feel the intensity of her gaze.

He never expected for that conversation to go this way. Clarke didn’t like being kept in the dark and while he could see that she must’ve been a bit hurt that he kept it from her, she still understood. Bellamy thought she’d be angry that he was recklessly endangering himself but as he listened to her, he realised that it wasn’t exactly fair to the both of them because after all the ups and downs of their relationship, she was his best friend, too and no-one knew him better than Clarke. Of course she understood and accepted it, even if not agreed with it.

He still didn’t know what to say, though. The way she talked about him, like he was a hero, he never sew himself like that. He was beating people into unconsciousness and putting his friend into a possibly career-killing position. Miller should’ve arrested him a long time ago and not help him basically break the law every time he took Bellamy’s tip as to where to find some tied up criminal. He agreed with the media calling him a vigilante and even if he didn’t care for it, that was the only way he knew how to help. For Bellamy, it was more a sense of duty than bravery but Clarke sounded almost proud of him and he really wanted to believe that she was right about him, even if just for tonight.

As the silence stretched between them, Bellamy moved the hand that Clarke was holding, turning it around so he could weave his fingers through hers.

“Goodnight, Clarke,” he finally whispered and felt her rest her head gently on his shoulder.

They didn’t let go of each other the whole night.

 

***

It was unbelievably strange, how little changed between them after that night and yet somehow _everything_ did. Bellamy still went out to roam the streets on the nights that his shift at the bar he worked at ended at a reasonable hour and she still didn’t comment on his injuries unless he started the conversation himself. And yet, now he texted her every night when he got back home and she would give him a quick once-over when they saw each other the next day.

As months passed, instead of texting, he started just coming over to her place if she wasn’t on shift at the hospital or he’d gotten beat up a little worse than usual, in which case she’d always tell him with annoyance that he should’ve been more careful. And then he’d stay and they’d watch something which was exactly what they’d always done. Only now he didn’t have to hide from her if he was hurt and she wasn’t looking at him sideways with suspicion. Which, honestly, should’ve been his first clue that she wasn’t so completely clueless about his extra-curricular activities.

One day, Clarke asked him for a blood sample. He was reluctant at first but finally agreed after she promised not to show it to anyone else and destroy it as quickly as possible. He knew he wasn’t the only one in the world with some kind of powers, he’d heard about people doing much weirded shit that he could all over the world but that didn’t mean that someone wouldn’t find him interesting enough to study.

Clarke came over his place a few weeks later with a stack of books about genetics and mutations, swearing that she’d personally thrown whatever was left of his blood into the medical waste incinerator, and started telling him all the theories she could come up with. Bellamy only understood a fraction of what she was saying but he listened intently anyway, mostly amused by her sheer enthusiasm and excitement that brought a glint to her eye.

At some point, Bellamy realised how much he actually wanted that, to have someone to really talk about it. Well, no, not just someone— _Clarke_. Her support turned out to be more important the he ever expected. He’d confessed to her about his doubts, how he sometimes wondered if he was any better than the people he chased. Clarke took his hand then and told him he’d been forgiven. That sometimes, in this imperfect world, one must choose an imperfect method.

And then, he had the chance to returned the favour as one day he found Clarke sitting on the floor of her kitchen, drinking vodka straight from the bottle. He settled next to her and they traded the bottle for a while, Bellamy just waiting for her to open up.

Finally, Clarke told him that they’d brought a prisoner to the ER. She wasn’t supposed to know what he had done but then she saw his name and she remembered Wells talking about the case, years ago when he was still in law school. The man had been convicted of multiple counts of murder and was serving life without parole due to the brutal nature of his crimes. She remembered what the man did to his victims and when it came the saving his life, she froze.

Even if just for a moment, she still did. She looked at the person who’d brought so much pain and misery and had to convince herself to help him. And when she did, it wasn’t because it was the right thing to do or because it was her job, but because she wanted him to suffer. He’d been attacked by his fellow inmates and she wanted to send him back to them, so he could live the rest of his life in fear, knowing that it could happen again.

She finished her story almost completely drunk, asking him, with tears in her eyes, what did that say about her and Bellamy had no idea what to tell her other than that he forgives her. She then collapsed against him and they stayed on the floor, Clarke crying into his chest until she exhausted herself and calmed down.

Bellamy picked her up and carried her to her bed, where she fell asleep almost instantly. He stayed with her and as he watched her toss and turn restlessly, he thought about how he wasn’t the only one struggling against the imperfect world.

 

***

In the end, it must’ve been blind luck that Bellamy was there when everything happened.

One dark and cold night in the middle of January, he caught a couple of guys harassing a kid in the back alley behind a convenience store. They beat him up quite badly before Bellamy got there and when he found out that the ambulance was taking him to Clarke’s hospital, he decided to pick her up at the end of her shift and asked about the kid.

Clarke still had some time left on her shift by the time Bellamy got to her and she told him that the kid—Connor, was fine, mostly just banged up. She left him to take care of the last patient for the night and Bellamy flopped down to the chair at the nurses’ station, pulling out his phone. He was in the middle of a Sudoku puzzle when he heard a commotion and Clarke’s raised voice telling someone that she cannot just prescribe drugs to someone without knowing the source of the pain.

He raised to his feet just in time to see a man in his forties jump out of his bed, grabbing Clarke by her throat with one hand and pulling out a gun out of nowhere with another. The room was almost empty and pretty drowsy at 5 am but everyone perked up as the man waved the gun around demanding to be taken to the drug storage. Clarke’s hand flew to the man’s  forearm, clenching around it.

There was one security guard inching his way towards the situation, his hand reaching for the Taser on his belt and suddenly Bellamy could see all the ways this could go horribly wrong. Before the guard had the chance to make his move, Bellamy called out to the man holding Clarke hostage. The man turned to him immediately, yanking Clarke closer to him, wrapping his arm around her neck. She tried prying the arm away from her again but to no avail.

Bellamy saw her take a ragged breath and tried to think of a way of getting her out of the man’s grasps before he strangled her. The man looked like he was already under the influence of something and that worried Bellamy more than anything. The more agitated he was, the more dangerous and unpredictable he could be.

“What’s your name?” he asked, trying to sound calm and collected and buy as much time as possible while the security guard led everyone else out of the room quickly and quietly.

The man looked at him with anger and suspicion but said nothing. Bellamy took a small step forward but the man’s hand holding the gun currently trained on his head shook so he stopped.

“Look, we all just want to get out of here,” Bellamy tried again. “I can help you get what you need but I need to know how to call you.”

The man chewed on it for what felt like eternity before barking out “Emerson.” Bellamy nodded at him and tried taking another step forward. It turned out to be the wrong choice because Emerson took the gun away from his face and pressed it against Clarke’s temple instead.

Bellamy felt his entire body grow cold as he saw panic rising in Clarke’s eyes. She herself froze momentarily but then a new look came to her face – eerie calmness and determination that always meant that Clarke had decided on a plan.

He saw Clarke’s right hand fall away from Emerson’s arm while the left one moved a little bit closer to the gun. Bellamy sent her a questioning glance and she clenched her jaw, shaking her head ever so slightly, her eyes begging him not to move. It took all of Bellamy’s will not to run to her when she reached her right hand to the metal tray lying on the bed next to her. She squeezed her eyes shut as her fingers brushed the edge of the tray, terrified she might disturb something and make a noise.

Bellamy saw her hand starting to shake so he tried talking to Emerson again.

“Hey, you still haven’t told me what you want,” he tried again and Clarke kept on feeling out the instruments on the tray until she finally reached a syringe. She opened her eyes an she picked it up and her jaw worked a little when she flipped the cap off of it and released a tiny sigh when it landed soundlessly on the blankets and not the floor.

Clarke pointed the syringe at Emerson’s leg and raised her eyebrows at Bellamy telling him to get ready. He wasn’t entirely sure he liked that plan of hers but given that it was the only one they had, he braces himself and waited for her to make her move.

Clarke plunged the needle hard into Emerson’s legs which distracted him enough to loosen the hold he had on her neck, allowing her to pull away from him. At the same time, her left hand gripped the gun and she tried to take it away from Emerson but he’d recovered enough not to let her. He pistol-whipped her which cause her to fall to the ground and move away from him.

Emerson clearly wanted to shoot her but before he had the chance to even point the at her, Bellamy was already there, ramming into Emerson, knocking him against the bed and dragging him to the ground. He punched Emerson in the face and heard bone crushing under his fist. He straddled the man and punched him again, knocking him out cold. Bellamy raised his fist to deliver another blow but he stopped when he heard Clarke call his name. Bellamy turned to look at her and let out a long breath, deflating. He turned the unconscious Emerson to his stomach, pulled a pair of zip tied out of the pocket of his jacket and tied his hand behind his back.

He crawled off of him and went to Clarke. He took her face in his hands and pressed his mouth against hers in a desperate kiss. Clarke kissed him back, parting her lips ever so slowly but then Bellamy heard her whine in pain and he moved away quickly to look at her.

Her lower lip was split where the gun had hit her and her left cheek was angrily red—soon to be purple and bruised. Bellamy rubbed the blood from the cut with his thumb—well, more like smeared it, and the right corner of Clarke’s mouth raised in the tiniest of smiles.

They simply looked at each other for the moment before the Police rushed into the room, a worried-looking Miller at the front. He looked around the room before his eyes settled on the two of them. His colleague went to Emerson immediately, seeing to his bindings but Miller just came closer and crouched next to them.

“Are you guys okay?” he asked, his voiced level as always but filled with worry.

“Yeah, we’re fine,” Bellamy answered and Clarke only nodded before slumping against him. He helped her up to her feet and led her to sit on one of the beds. Two doctors came in now, one of them checking on Emerson, the other on the two of them.

They were asked to give a quick statement and then to come to the station the next day for a full interview. Bellamy had no idea how much time had passed before they were finally released and Miller offered to drive them both home. He was so tired and disoriented by the adrenaline leaving his system quickly that he barely even noticed when Miller parked the car in front of Bellamy’s building, Clarke already dropped off safely at her own place.

Bellamy shook his head before he reassured Miller once again that he was fine and left the car. He took his jacket off when he came into his apartment and locked to door behind him but didn’t bother to remove a single piece of clothing more, he just headed for his bedroom and landed on the bed face first.

He slept for the next eight hours.

 

***

They didn’t talk about the kiss.

Bellamy had woken up the next day just a few hours before his shift at the bar and only had the time for a quick text to Clarke before he had to run to the police station for the interview and then to work. The encounter didn’t leave any lasting marks on him so Bellamy decided not to waste the rare day when he could show his boss that he could actually look like he wasn’t constantly getting himself into trouble.

Clarke texted him back several hours later, explaining that she went to the station early to get it over with quickly. She then took a sleeping and slept through the rest of the day. She’s only just woken up to grab a shower and something to eat before heading back to bed.

The next, she called him to say that her mother came by as soon as she heard about what happened and was planning to stay the whole weekend, just to make sure that Clarke was fine. Bellamy chuckled as he practically heard her roll her eyes but there was a warmth in her voice, too, and he felt a pang of bitterness and envy because his sister lived on the other side of the country now and they only talked on birthdays and major holidays, and she probably had no idea that anything had happened. He shook himself out of that thought because it never led to anything good and just wished Clarke a nice time with her mother.

So, yeah, Bellamy could honestly say that they simply didn’t have a chance to talk about the kiss.

Which was a very nice excuse to cover up the fact that he couldn’t help but wonder if maybe they were actually trying to avoid talking about it. It would be the easiest thing in the world, blaming it on the situation and it wouldn’t even be a lie.

Yes, he did kiss her because she’d just had a gun pressed to her head and he was deliriously happy to see that she was okay. And of course she kissed him back because she’d just had a gun pressed to her head and was now safe. They could agree that there was nothing more to that and move on.

But then Bellamy realised that it was actually the last thing he wanted. Because in that moment when he was straddling the unconscious Emerson, his body filled with rage and ready to strike again, Bellamy heard her calling him, bringing him back to reality, like an anchor.

Bellamy knew he had loved her a while now. She was his best friend, his confidante, his rock. But then, when he got to her, he was suddenly struck by the thought that he could’ve lost her before he ever had the chance to kiss her. And now that he had, he knew he never wanted to stop kissing her.

Of course he wanted to tell her that but at the same time, he wasn’t entirely sure how Clarke felt—to her it really could’ve just been the adrenaline high. And that scared him. Not just the potential rejection, though who could blame him for wanting to avoid that for as long as possible. The thing that mattered the most was the relationship they’d already had and Bellamy didn’t want it to become the casualty of his unrequited feelings.

He could just as easily stay quiet, keep the things between then just as they were and maybe with time everything will go back to normal. Except he was quite certain that this wasn’t just going to go away.

It was funny, really. He could jump on an armed criminal and run into a burning building without a moment of hesitation but he was scared to tell his best friend that he loved her.

 

***

It turned out that of the two of them, Clarke was the brave one after all. She came by his place as soon as her mother left, with a box of pizza and an uncertain smile.

She placed the pizza on his kitchen table, straightened up and came to him. She put her hand on his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. She moved away before Bellamy had any real chance to respond and took in a deep breath.

“I’m safe, sober and I know what I’m doing,” Clarke said quickly and exhaled with a tiny sigh. She looked at him defiantly, like she was expecting him to argue and Bellamy couldn’t help himself, he laughed with relief. She frowned at him and took the tiniest step back but Bellamy grabbed her by the hand and pulled her back in for another kiss. Bellamy ran his tongue over her lip and he heard her gasp when she opened her mouth for him, her arms wrapping around his shoulders, wanting to get closer to him.

They separated after a while but neither of them moved more than a couple of inches

“I love you,” Bellamy fired at her, his voice ragged, and now it was Clarke’s time to laugh.

She rested her head on his shoulder and Bellamy saw her shake against him a little. “Oh, good,”  she said, looking up at him again, her smile wide and he felt his own face splitting in a happy grin. “Cause I love you, too.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading, feedback would be welcomed like manna.
> 
> come and visit me on tumblr ([carrieeve](http://carrieeve.tumblr.com)), we can scream about our favourite characters together.


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